Seduction in Mind (30 page)

Intuitively recognizing female willingness, he bent to gently kiss her forehead. "I missed you today," he whispered.

She'd missed him, but she couldn't dismiss her anger or admit to it. "You ruined my day completely," she replied, waspish and fretful.

"I'll apologize any way you wish."

The innuendo in his words, no matter how silken, further raised her ire. "I'm sure you will. But I'm not interested."

"Tell me what you want and I'll do it."

"I want you to set me down and go away."

"I wish I could." Each word was neutral, bland.

"Of course you can. You can do anything you want."

"If I weren't so selfish, I could. Ask me to do something more reasonable. Something we could do together," he added with a cheeky grin.

"You're so damned sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"Of course not," he lied.

She gazed at him for a speculative moment, his harsh features limned by moonlight, his beauty difficult to ignore, her ability to alter the balance of power restricted by his sheer size alone—not to mention any number of other more equivocal reasons. He wasn't going to release her. That much was plain. "What if we were to compromise?" she said, looking for advantage in this uneven contest.

"Then we'll compromise," he replied smoothly, knowing better, knowing more than she about what she was willing to do.

She glared at him. "How easily you agree."

"But then, I'm interested in being agreeable," he drawled softly, reaching the garden gate and pushing it open with his shoulder. He glanced down the narrow passage behind the house.

Following his gaze, she saw his waiting carriage. "You planned this!" Her voice was charged with affront.

"Not necessarily."

"So anyone would have served your purposes?"

"I didn't say that."

"Damn you, Sam, I'm not going to be your casual selection for the night! Put me down this instant!"

He set her down abruptly. "I'm not interested in playing some stupid little game where you pretend you don't want what you want and I'm supposed to be the big bad wolf," he growled.

"But you are." Her voice was bitter.

"And you want the big bad wolf," he said brusquely. "Admit it."

"Even if I did, I take issue with your arrogance," she said as brusquely as he. "Am I supposed to be thrilled that you're willing to make love to me? I can pick and choose like you. I refused a considerable number of men tonight. I don't need you."

He shifted his stance, restlessly clenched and unclenched his fists, then looked away for a moment before returning his gaze to her. "I apologize."

He was actually contrite. "My goodness," she whispered.

"I've been drinking all day. Would you consider that an excuse?"

"For last night as well?"

A tick appeared over his cheekbone. "Do you have to win every round?"

"I'm not sure I can win anything with you." She wished she weren't filled with longing the way she was.

"You could have fooled me."

They were both out of humor, or out of their depth in terms of desire, and he was right—she wanted the big bad wolf… in all his guises. "Perhaps we could begin this conversation again," she said softly.

He could smell, taste, feel her acquiescence, and maybe he had drunk too much, because he should have been more polite. "What if I don't want to talk?"

"What if I say you have to?"

"I'd have to say I can't guarantee anything right now."

She half smiled. "Have you reached your limit?"

"I did hours ago. This is restraint, sweetheart, on about a thousand different levels." He inhaled softly. "Could we talk in the morning? I promise to listen closely."

"When you're sober."

He shrugged. "When I'm not focused exclusively on fucking you." He lifted his hands quickly, palms out. "I apologize for my bluntness. And if you really want me to listen now, I'll try." His nostrils flared. "I think I could."

He looked so adorably sweet—if it was possible for someone as powerfully built and sinfully handsome to look adorable—and her last reservations melted away. "Morning will be fine."

His relief was apparent. "You can talk to me tonight, too, if you wish, but I can't guarantee I'll hear it all."

"Actually," she said with a smile, "I'm not really in the mood for talking right now."

He blew out a small breath. "Thank you."

The sun barely intruded through the heavy velvet draperies in the Adelphi bedroom, but a thin sliver of light gave evidence that morning had come. It sliced through the dimness and lay golden and undulating on the rumpled covers at the foot of the bed.

The small brilliance jogged some part of her brain as Alex lay prone on the bed, her head turned toward the windows, and she opened one eye.

She half smiled, not at the sunlight, but in joyful memory of the night past. The heat of Sam's body lay against hers, his arm rested lightly on her back, and all was deliciously right with the world… until spontaneous emotion gave way to niggling reminders of her life beyond Sam Lennox. Her numerous appointments for the day leaped into her consciousness.

A heated tremor eddied deep in the pit of her stomach, reminding her of more pleasant activities. She shifted faintly to better absorb the luscious sensation.

At her movement, Sam tightened his hold and pulled her closer. "I didn't know I could feel this good"—he nuzzled her neck—"are we in heaven?"

His erection nudged her bottom, and like an addict, she leaped in response. "It's heaven in the Adelphi," she whispered, wanting him again, always—when she shouldn't, when she should leave.

"Good, then, that I own." He adjusted himself against her bottom.

She shivered as the head of his erection nuzzled her labia.

And I'm going to own you, he wished to say, his sense of possession intense. But, circumspect, he said instead, "We still have time, don't we?" as though they woke up like this every day, in this ordinary way, and she was his. Without waiting for an answer, he eased his rigid length into her honeyed warmth in slow, rapturous degrees.

She uttered a breathy cry as he filled her, his invasion triggering rapture in every inch of ravished, susceptible tissue. Hypersensitive after hours of impassioned sex, overstimulated, her fevered senses quickened like wildfire, and she quickly climaxed. Aware of how insatiable her passions, he gave her more of what she wanted, what she needed, listened with a practiced ear to her heated breathing as a new orgasm began warming her blood. Consciously repressing his jealousy, he refused to speculate on how many other men had wakened with her and done what he was doing to her, how often she'd instantly responded like this. Instead, he focused on fucking the luscious Miss Ionides for purely selfish reasons.

Sometime later, when their selfishness was momentarily appeased, Sam lifted Alex from the bed and carried her to one of the armchairs. "Wait for me. I'll be right back."

Her smile was teasing as she leaned against the high-backed chair, her auburn curls gleaming. "How long do I have to wait?"

He looked up from pouring water into a basin. "How long would you wait for me?"

"For you?" She winked. "Indefinitely."

He chuckled. "As long as indefinitely is under five minutes, you mean." He dipped a washcloth into the water.

She cast him a playful glance. "That must be why we get along so well."

"Because I indulge you?"

"Is that what you call it?"

"I was being polite," he said, flashing her a grin.

"You would prefer a different word?"

"A blunter one." He began washing away the residue of their lovemaking. "But I'm content regardless of the semantics."

"Are you truly?"

She looked small in the large chair, innocent, when his life had been largely bereft of the quality, and a rare poignancy overcame him. "More than ever," he said softly.

"Me too," she said with charming honesty. "Do you think it's just because of the sex?"

More comfortable with talk of sex, he spoke with a familiar drawl. "I don't know about 'just,' but sex is definitely a factor."

"How big a factor? Let me reword that," she said with a smile, her gaze on the object of his washing. "How much of a factor?"

"You tell me."

"Because this is a constant in your life."

"No." His dark gaze surveyed the room. "
This
is not."

"But sex is."

"Not this kind of sex."

"What kind?"

"The kind you like—constant, exclusive"—he shrugged—"personal."

"Personal?"

"Don't look at me like that. I just meant this is different."

"In contrast to your usual impersonal sex."

"It's no damned secret, if that's what you're implying." He came to stand before her, a fresh bowl of water and a washcloth in his hands. "Get up."

"I can wash myself."

"But I want to."

"That's not necessary." She knew where that would lead, and she was uncomfortably aware of the time.

"I didn't say it was necessary. Humor me."

"I've humored you sufficiently."

"And I you. Now do as you're told."

"Sam, I dislike commands."

"Not always." His smile was impudent.

"Don't remind me," she said with a grimace, "when I've spent so many years developing my independence."

"You can't always be independent."

"Easy for you to say. You don't take orders at all."

His dark brows rose in perfect arches. "Excuse me."

"Well… those weren't precisely orders."

"They sure sounded like it to me. I believe your exact words on more than one occasion last night were—"

"I concede, I concede," she interposed quickly. "Thank you, by the way."

"I'm sure I'll be amply repaid with—shall we say—a degree of ready compliance…"

"I shouldn't."

"I shouldn't have last night, but I did."

"You weren't suffering."

"I can guarantee you won't either." He gestured with the bowl. "Up, darling."

"I want you to know, I'm doing this against my will." She came to her feet with a small, pouty moue.

"Now, if only I had a conscience," he said with a cheeky grin, "a comment like that might elicit some guilt."

"You're impossible." She smiled. "But very, very sexy. Although that shouldn't give you any leverage."

"You talk too much," he announced, pulling her forward, sinking to his knees before her.

"Maybe this won't be too difficult after all," she observed, a mischievous light in her eyes. "You on your knees conjure a number of pleasant possibilities."

"There's a certain cachet to submission, I agree," he said blandly.

"I dislike the word submission."

He smiled. "I apologize." Inserting a hand between her legs, he eased them apart in a decidedly unapologetic way.

There was no point in being contentious over such a simple task, but when the damp cloth touched her sensitive cleft, she steeled herself to withstand the delectable sensation. She had no intention of submitting as Sam had so insolently suggested. But as he parted her swollen flesh and delicately slid the cool cloth over her throbbing tissue, she had to forcibly suppress her gasp. "This won't take long," he said as though he'd not seen her moment of constraint.